


'Til Kingdom Come

by evewithanapple



Category: Juliet Marillier- The Sevenwaters Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny and Gareth re-connect after the battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amchara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amchara/gifts).



After the duel Johnny was quickly hustled away to the healer’s tent; and from the snippets of fearful speculation Gareth managed to catch, it seemed that there was some worry that he wouldn’t survive from his wounds. The matter of the prophecy had been settled, and the islands were safe, but no one spoke of that now. They paced about, pale faces pinched with worry, speaking with low voices as though they could drive away Death’s spectre by being too quiet for it to hear.

As for himself, Gareth stayed planted directly outside the healer’s tent. He had wounds of his own; a gash on his cheek and bruises on his side that might indicate broken ribs. But the healer only had time for Johnny and even if they had tried to look over Gareth’s injuries, he would have pushed them away. He didn’t care about the pain in his side, or the blood that had dried and stuck to his face. He merely stood like a statue outside of the tent, thinking- irrationally, he would admit- that he would be fine if only Johnny came through all right. That if the healer managed a miracle and pulled the child of the prophecy back from the brink of death, his wounds would heal of their own accord. It was stupid; it made no sense; but it was the desperate mantra he repeated to himself as he stood watch.

_He’s the child of the prophecy; we can’t lose him_ some murmured confidently, certain that the gods would not let Johnny die. They had pulled him back once when he was thought lost forever; why would they take him now? But the paralyzing fear that held Gareth in its grip whispered differently. _He’s not the child of the prophecy at all; he’s just the spare, the failsafe. The gods have no use for him. Why bother to save him?_ The two thoughts warred in his head, like a poison that had taken hold of his mind, and he couldn’t shake them. So he stood, grim-faced and silent, waiting for the healer to emerge.

When he finally did, the news was good. Johnny was going to live. He’d need rest, and good care for the next little while, but he was safe. The news spread quickly, and smiles broke out over the faces of Johnny’s men. Still, Gareth didn’t move from his post. He had to see his leader before he could believe it, and until he believed it, there was no rest for him.

After the crowd outside the tent had dispersed, he slipped inside. Only the healer’s assistant remained, packing up the supplies; she nodded to him, and slipped out. Gareth stared at the prone form lying on the floor. Johnny was still as pale as snow, with ugly bruises on his face. The healers had done their best to clean the blood from his face and hair, but some still stubbornly remained, matted in his curls. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he would have appeared dead. Gareth knelt beside him, partially to get closer, and partially because his shaking legs would have given out on him if he hadn’t.

He looked so . . . fragile. The word was not one he’d ever thought to apply to Johnny, but it sprang to mind as he observed his sleeping leader. Scarce hours ago, he had been on the brink of death; and only hours before that, they had thought him lost forever. Gareth reached out, and gently placed a palm to his chest. The gentle _thump-thump_ of his heart was reassuring, as was the familiar warmth that Gareth felt upon contact with Johnny’s skin.

He hadn’t thought to disturb him; surely, he thought, the healers must have given him a sleeping draft. But as Gareth’s hand settled on Johnny’ chest, the latter opened his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve expired in the last few minutes, but you’re welcome to make sure.”

Gareth let out a shaky laugh; that was the dry sense of humour that frequently made him want to strangle and kiss Johnny at the same time. But now, as those familiar grey eyes stared up at him- grey eyes that always managed to seem warm, even though they matches the colour of the sky before a storm broke out- he didn’t feel any urge to strangle him, just hold him and make sure he wouldn’t slip away. From the look in his eyes, Johnny seemed to understand the sentiment, even thought it wasn’t spoken; a lot of their communication was like that. They didn’t have the same gift as Liadan and her brother, but they managed all the same.

Johnny coughed; a suggestive sound rather than a sick one. “You know, it’s rather cold in here. I don’t suppose you’d mind . . . ?”

Gareth didn’t have to be asked twice. He pulled back the blankets and crawled in next to Johnny, not bothering to shed his own clothes. Johnny closed his eyes and nestled his head into Gareth’s shoulder as Gareth buried his face in Johnny’s hair. “We-” His voice tightened. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Johnny smiled up at him, but there was a trace of irony in his voice as he said. “I’m the child of the prophecy, remember? I’m not allowed to die.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Gareth knew well what he meant. They’d spent hours talking of it, curled up next to each other as Johnny poured out his worries that he wouldn’t be able to live up to the larger-than-life figure that the prophecy had made him into, and Gareth kissed him and instead of saying _I know you’ll do it_ or _I believe in you _said _I don’t care, I love you_. The others say Johnny as a sort of god; he didn’t ever tire or doubt or feel pain. Gareth was different from them. Gareth knew he was a man.

Johnny hissed in pain as he shifted and accidentally rolled onto one of his injuries. Gareth made wordless soothing sounds as he gently rubbed a hand up and down the bruises that patterned Johnny’s side. He knew the other man’s body, every inch of it; his fingers had traced Johnny’s tattoos so often, he could do it blindfolded. Now he gently ran a hand up and down the other man’s injuries, wishing that he had some kind of magic touch that would allow him to wave the wounds away and make Johnny well and whole again. Johnny’s eyelids hung half-shut; as Gareth ran his hand up to the other man’s face, he closed his eyes entirely, making a pleased sound, moving closer to Gareth until there was no empty space remaining between their bodies.

Gareth kissed him, watching his chest rise and fall as he drifted to sleep. The next day, they could make plans; they could deal with the aftermath of the battle, and what it meant for Sevenwaters. Now they had each other, and that was enough.


End file.
